


Undercover Christmas

by capildissexy



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alien Abduction, Double Penetration, F/M, Fire, Flirting, Fluffy Ending, Gay Sex, Holidays, Love Triangles, Outer Space, Slow Burn, Smutty, Space Husbands, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capildissexy/pseuds/capildissexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a love triangle (Malcolm/Clara and Clara/12).  Clara is tapped by UNIT to stop a Zygon assassination attempt on the new Prime Minister, Malcolm Tucker. Takes place at Christmas time. This is intended to be light, fluffy, and smutty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after In the Thick of It. Malcolm was released from jail and elected PM. This takes place after Last Christmas and before the Zygon Invasion/Inversion. This is an AU...Missy didn't kill Osgood. Face the Raven, Heaven Sent and Hellbent didn't happen. I envision this having five parts and finishing before Christmas. Basically I needed something fun after the emotional wringer of those past few episodes.

Christmas Undercover

"Why come to me? Why aren't you asking the Doctor for help?"

Clara Oswald sat across from Kate Stewart and the Osgoods at a table in the Black Archive. UNIT had showed up on her doorstep this morning and whisked her off to the Archive before she'd even gotten a cup of coffee this morning. They said they had a mission for her, one only she could complete successfully.

"Yes, well, you see this operation calls for sensitivity," Kate said carefully.

"Subtlety," Osgood 1 put in. She was wearing a long knitted scarf around her neck.

"And discretion. That isn't exactly the Doctor's style, is it?" Osgood 2 finished. She was wearing a tweed jacket with a Fez on her head, as well as a bowtie.

The outfit made Clara smile. And they had a point. The Doctor was the man for the job when Earth was invaded or there was an alien uprising. He didn't do secretive missions.

"What do you want me to do?" Clara asked.

"We need you to protect the new Prime Minister," Kate said.

Clara frowned. "Why me? Why not his security detail?"

"It's an alien threat you see," Osgood 2 explained. "We believe a Zygon is going to assume his identity and seize power in a bloodless sort of coup. We can't let that happen."

"Some of the Zygons want to live their lives in the open on our planet," Osgood 1 explained. "We sympathize with their position, but it isn't practical."

"Humans have been killing each other for centuries over differences. Can you imagine the reaction to a race of aliens living among us?" Kate asked. "It would be a bloodbath."

"That sort of change takes generations," Osgood 1 explained. "We want them to live out in the open, but it will take time. And patience."

"Why haven't you informed the new Prime Minister?" Clara asked. "I'm sure his or her security detail could be briefed. By the way, who got elected?"

Since last Christmas, Clara had been traveling with the Doctor full-time. She'd quit her job, was in the process of subletting her flat, and had generally pulled back from the Earth since Danny's death.

They all stared at one another, blinking. Uncomfortable.

"What?" Clara had a bad feeling. "Well?"

"You see the new Prime Minister. He's uh…" Kate paused. "What's the word?"

"Ferocious?" Osgood 1 said.

"Frightening?" Osgood 2 offered.

"We haven't yet briefed him on UNIT or our role in the government. I'm ashamed to say I've been putting it off," Kate finished.

"You're all scared of him," Clara surmised. "What makes you think I'll have better luck with him?"

"Well, you have a certain knack for dealing with grumpy, older Scotsman," Kate said. And then she slid a picture across the desk.

Clara gaped at the thin, older man. She'd know that face, those eyebrows anywhere. "But that's….that's…"

"No, it isn't," Kate said. "We, uh, quietly obtained a DNA sample. He's completely human. They say everyone has a twin out there somewhere. And so does the Doctor, it would seem."

"What's his name?" Clara asked.

"Malcolm Tucker," the Osgoods said in unison.

Osgood 1 opened a file. "He used to be a spin doctor for the labor party and then he was sentenced to jail time."

"Only his sentence was commuted by the Prime Minister on his way out of office a few years ago."

"Since then, he rejoined the party but as a candidate. He became something of a folk hero to the public. He has a reputation for being hard-working as well as….er, colorful," Osgood 2 said. "He was elected in a landslide, even though his methods are unorthodox."

"And you want me to be his bodyguard?" Clara asked incredulously.

"We want you to keep an eye on him and yes, keep him safe. Report any unusual activity to UNIT," Kate said, sliding a government-issued mobile across the desk to her, along with what looked like a roll of masking tape. "I've secured you an undercover position as a live-in maid."

"Oh, fantastic. I get to scrub toilets, too. I'm supposed to go on holiday with the Doctor," Clara said. They were planning on celebrating Christmas in style. All month long they'd party, starting with a trip to Dickensian England.

"You can postpone it," Osgood 2 said. "He has a time machine."

Then she picked up the roll of the tape. "And what's this for?"

"Be careful," Osgood 1 said. "That's neutralizing tape. All you have to do is place the sticky side against skin and it'll knock out an adversary. It works on both humans and Zygons."

Clara blew out a breath. She wanted to refuse.

And then she looked at their wide eyes. Her duty to queen and country started to tug at her heartstrings. Besides, what would the Doctor do in this situation? Clara knew the answer.

"I'll do it."

12

Later that day, Clara was packing up some items at her flat. To prepare for the subletter, she'd emptied a chest of drawers, as well as a closet. She'd had an extra set of keys made and gone through the larder, pitching expired items. The landlady had promised to look after her flat until it'd been rented.

Then she heard the telltale sounds of the TARDIS materializing around her. Oh, no, in all the chaos this morning, she'd forgotten to ring the Doctor and let him know her plans had changed.

Suddenly, she was standing at the console, with the Doctor beside her.

"Ready?" he asked, eyebrows lifting.

"I can't, Doctor. I'm sorry." Clara knew better than to tell him about the mission. Lately, he'd become obsessed with her safety. If he knew she was trying to stop an alien assassination, he'd never let her do it alone. And she didn't know how he'd react to meeting a man who could be his twin. But she doubted it'd go well.

His face fell. "But you promised! This year we agreed…neither one of us will be dying. And we won't have parasitic aliens wrapped around our faces. This was supposed to be the best Christmas ever."

"I know, I'm sorry, Doctor. I really am. But a thing came up." Clara felt awful. She'd been looking forward to having some fun with him for once. No tromping down corridors avoiding laser blasts. No bases in trouble. No alien invasions. Just fun.

"What thing?" he asked suspiciously. "You're being mysterious."

"A family thing," she lied.

Suddenly, he was behind her, grabbing a scanner and whirling it around so they could both view it. The Doctor was a cool presence behind her. His body temperature was like a crisp autumn evening, but she'd grown accustomed to the temperature differential.

He tapped a few buttons and a chillier looking planet appeared. Trees encrusted in thick ice, blankets of snow wrapped around the terrain. As they watched, a sleigh came to a halt, pulled by actual reindeer. "I found an entire planet where it's December 25th half the year. I figured after we're bored with the Dickens of it all, we'll go there."

"And what's the other half of the year?" she asked.

"Easter," he said, as if the answer should be obvious. "I call it planet Holiday. It has a proper name of course, but I can't remember it. Think about it, Clara. We could go on sleigh rides, sing carols, drink hot chocolate until we're sick," he whispered that bit into her ear.

And Clara was suddenly aware of his arms around her, his breath on her neck. It gave her an involuntary shiver. The sexual tension between the two of them had been at a fever pitch since the previous Christmas. But they hadn't acted on it.

The Doctor was the only person who'd been there for her. He'd become essential to her. He'd pasted her back together, given her a reason to live after Danny's death. And she couldn't bear the thought of not having him in her life. If they started a relationship, it wouldn't end well. That was part of the package when it came to falling in love with a nearly immortal being.

Clara wasn't ready to take that step. Not yet. But she wanted to.

And she wasn't above using the attraction to her benefit. Casually, she stepped back, so her bottom came into contact with the cradle of his thighs.

The Doctor gasped behind her, his hands gripping the console.

She could feel the hard length of him nestled against her arse, but Clara didn't comment. Instead, she leaned forward and examined planet Holiday in the view screen, acting completely oblivious to his reaction. "I'm sorry I'll have to miss it. It looks spectacular, Doctor."

"Yes. It's a shame." His voice was lower, the Scottish burr more pronounced. His knuckles had gone white.

Clara turned around and seized him by the lapels of his red velvet jacket. She kissed the corner of his mouth.

And he stared down at her, eyes smoldering with pent up lust.

"I've got to handle this…situation for a couple of weeks. And then we'll do Christmas in style, I promise. We won't quite have a month holiday, but it'll be fun."

The Doctor trembled. "Whatever you say, boss," he croaked.  
She cocked her head to the side. "By the way, what do you want for Christmas this year?"

"Uh, oh…."

The sexual tension curled between them. Clara had little doubt what sort of present he was hoping for.

He licked his lips. "I'll leave that up to you. Whatever you want to give me."

She grinned. "Okay then. I'll give you a ring when I'm done." And then she sauntered away. Clara could feel the Doctor's eyes on her, following every single movement.

She couldn't resist putting a bit more wiggle into her walk. Maybe this Christmas Eve, they'd spend the night in bed together.

12

Two days into her uncover operation, Clara Oswald was ready to quit.

Because she was the new person, she got all of the grunt work. Basically, any tasks the other household staff members didn't want to do. Not to mention the outfit. She wore a black and white maid uniform and it was just this side of indecent. Every time she bent over, she had to put her backside against a wall or risk flashing someone.

She hadn't even so much as glimpsed the Prime Minister either. Luckily, he'd been surrounded by his personal guard and he'd spend most of the time in Downing St. So, she was around if anything went wrong. But she wouldn't be effective in this position, unless she could find a way to gain access to him. She was just about to call Kate and wash her hands of this business, when the housekeeper had to go home sick.

So, Clara loaded up a tray with tea and biscuits and took it to the Prime Minister. She stood on the opposite side of the heavy oak door and took a deep breath. Then knocked.

"Come the fuck in, or fuck the fuck off," he growled from the other side.

Clara blinked. UNIT hadn't been exaggerating about his colorful demeanor. She walked in and found him at his desk, shuffling through a pile of papers. He looked so much like the Doctor it stunned her. Although, he was slightly younger and his hair was shorter. But that was the only discernable difference.

He glanced up at her and then returned to the papers. Then, he frowned. "You aren't the housekeeper."

"Very astute," she said, then bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I meant to say…No, I'm not. I'm Clara, the new maid."

"New maid?"

Clara unloaded the tray on the desk. "Yes, Sir, since Mrs. Roberts is ill, I'll be taking care of you today." No one had told her any such thing, but Clara had seized on the opportunity.

"I vet all the household staff," he said. "How come I know nothing about you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't you have people doing that for you?" she asked.

"They might miss something. Most of them are fucking incompetent. Besides, if they fuck up and hire some opposition spy, I'm the one who'll be bent over with my arse in the air and my trousers 'round my knees while I get fucked without any lube by the media."

Clara gawped at him. That was certainly a colorful metaphor.

"I repeat. Who vetted you?"

"Oh, I…uh, met with someone in personnel. What was her name?" Clara tapped her chin with a finger, pretending to think about it. When she was done here, she'd contact Kate and have her produce some fake records to placate Mr. Tucker.

"You're lying." He bit into a biscuit as he studied her over the rim of his tea cup. The scrutiny was intense. With his beaky nose and penetrating gaze she felt a bit like a field mouse being tracked by a bird of prey.

Damn. Unless she did something fast, he'd fire her. And then she didn't have a shot in hell at protecting him…and the country. Clara waved a hand at the chair in front of his massive desk. "May I?"

He nodded. "Tell me who you are. Right now." His smile was a toothy grimace.

"Like I said, I'm Clara Oswald. Until a few months ago I was a school teacher at Coal Hill."

As she spoke, he scribbled down notes. She had no doubt he'd be verifying her story.

"What the fuck is a school teacher doing cleaning toilets for the Prime Minister?" His blue eyes were like twin chips of ice.

She supposed most people were afraid of him, but Clara had seen far scarier things than a grumpy politician. "Long story, that." Clara decided it was best to go with as much truth as she could muster. "My boyfriend died a few months back. It was in a tragic car accident." She didn't bother hiding her emotions. Her behavior had to ring true to him. "He also taught at Coal Hill and I couldn't bear the place anymore. I had to get away." That was more or less the truth.

His silvery blue eyes were marginally warmer. "So you decided to be a maid? Why not another professional position?"

"I need to think, figure out what I want to do with my life. I suppose you could say I'm at a crossroads."

"And you're going to find yourself while working for me?"

"Why not?" Clara sat back in the chair and lifted her chin. She had a feeling this man responded to strength. "I doubt my existential crisis will keep me from taking out the rubbish or making the beds properly."

His lips twitched. "I suppose you're right."

They smiled at one another. Despite his gruff manner, Clara liked him. Maybe it was residual affection for the Doctor?"

"Off you pop then." He glanced down at his notes. "I'll be confirming everything you said. If you don't check out, I'll terminate you, Christmas be damned."

"Do your worst." She stood up and strolled towards the door. Clara knew that he was checking out her arse. She could feel the weight of his stare.

Just like the Doctor. He actually seemed to have a lot in common with the Time Lord. "See you later, Sir."

"Later, Miss Oswald."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A space napping and some fire starting....

The Doctor was bored.

That wasn't a new experience for him. He was usually bored, but it was more acute today. Clara had sworn she'd come on holiday with him, and now he was left to cool his heels while she finished some supposed family business. He didn't buy the story, but he let it go. After all, he lied all the time. It'd be a bit hypocritical to call her out on lying.

She'd promised to ring him when she'd finished up, but it'd been days. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to pop in and check on her? Make sure things were progressing?

Or perhaps he was looking for an excuse…

As if they had minds of their own, his fingers flew over the controls. Long ago, he'd programmed the TARDIS to pick up her bio signature. That way he didn't have to waste time searching through all the places she'd might be. He'd startled more than one student at Coal Hill that way.

He landed the ship and found Clara asleep in a shabby little room he didn't recognize. It didn't look like Clara's flat. But then again…he didn't exactly notice these things. Whenever he appeared at Clara's place, he was mostly focused on her. He hadn't bothered to check the scanner before stepping out either. Maybe he should?

But the sight before his eyes was even more compelling. She was lying on a twin-sized bed in a pair of gingham flannel pajamas. The Doctor stood over her and cleared his throat loudly, hoping that'd wake her.

It didn't.

Then he sat down beside her on the bed, bouncing the springs as he did.

Again, no response.

She was sound asleep. Human beings spent so much of their short lives sleeping. Nearly a third. As mad as it sounded, he resented the fact that she slept so much. That was time he'd never get to spend with her. Though, the alternative was a spell in Morpheus and killer eye bogeys. So, he'd let Mother Nature take its course.

He should go, just pop back in the TARDIS and fly away until she called for him. But he couldn't. They'd left so many things unsaid. This Christmas he wanted to rectify that.

But now wasn't the time.

Yes, he should go…but he didn't want to. With a sigh, the Doctor gathered a sleepy Clara into his arms, relishing the slight weight of her, the roundness of her body against his slim angular one.

She felt…right in his arms.

Just one little trip. Somewhere awesome, in Clara's words. Surely, she wouldn't mind. He had every intention of getting her back on time for anything she had planned. He hit a few buttons, while balancing her and off they went.

They arrived on the deserted Helix Space Station. It was deployed in the year 2245 to study the Helix Nebula, but it was currently unoccupied while the crew gathered data.

He found the director's quarters easily, materializing the TARDIS at the foot of the bed. Then he laid Clara down on the bed beside him. The Doctor stretched out beside her on the bed, wrapping his body around hers, placing his limbs in the empty spaces. And he was rewarded by Clara rolling over and snuggling into him. She buried her face in his chest and the Doctor wrapped an arm around her. Lately, he'd had the urge to touch her much more often. Like the old days. He couldn't keep his hands from her. And she didn't seem to mind. Whenever he held out his arms, she went into them. She held his hand and wiped crumbs from his chin when he ate toast. Clara straightened the lapels on his jackets and linked her arms through his whilst they explored alien worlds.

Before long, he drifted off, too.

12

Clara woke slowly.

The room she was in felt curiously cool…and dry. Something was off. She'd gone up to her third floor room at Downing Street to sleep around midnight. Calling it a room was being generous. It was about the size of a large broom cupboard and just as comfortable. With a lumpy, dodgy sort of bed.

But the bed she was in now was very comfortable.

Her eyes snapped open to reveal a field of stars overhead, showcased by what looked like a sunroof…or a moonroof? Over the bed, no less. The walls around her were glass…or appeared to be glass? And the bed was large and round

It also contained another occupant. The Doctor.

The Doctor had abducted her. Again. This wasn't the first time she'd found herself in space after she'd fallen asleep. Not that she minded. Clara would rather be in space anyway with the Doctor anyway. But she had a job to do. Also? Asking permission was a serious thing. He needed to do a better job of that.

The Doctor was lying next to her, sleeping on his stomach, his head on a large pillow. Clara indulged herself in a good long and somewhat lascivious look. She never got the opportunity to really observe him.

The Doctors hair was a work of art. A mosaic. The strands were gray, silver, white, and brown at the nape of his neck. The curls called to her. She wanted to wrap coils around her fingers. Clara longed to caress his hair the way he did absentmindedly did sometimes. Only she would take her time and explore it fully.

While she'd been stunned by his appearance initially, Clara had not only adjusted to the Doctor's new body…she'd come to appreciate it. She loved the sharp steely blue of his stare. The long elegant fingers, the slope of his nose. But she didn't have time to indulge her whims.

Clara decided to get even with him.

With a wicked grin, she screamed, "Doctor, wake up, we're under attack!"

With a yelp, he sat up in bed, blinking, giving her a full-on owl impression. "Clara!? Who? Where?" He pulled the sonic from his pocket and it buzzed in his hand. He glanced left and then right. When he saw no threat, he narrowed his eyes on her. "That wasn't funny!"

"It wasn't meant to be. You kidnapped me."

"You aren't a kid, so I can't kidnap you. I just took you on a trip," he insisted.

"While I was asleep. You adbucted me."

"We're sight seeing." And then he stood, gesturing out the glass to what looked like an enormous eye. "This is the Helix Nebula! Though some people call it the Eye of Sauron. Care to have a closer look? Or maybe we could have a look around here for a bit?" He waggled his eyebrows after he said that.

Ordinary human men seduced with chocolates and flowers. The Doctor used space phenomenon.

Clara stared at what resembled an enormous eye in the field of stars. "Strangely enough, that's not comforting. Where are we…space station?"

"Yes, a NASA observatory in the near future." He rocked back on his heels and smiled, teeth gleaming. Clearly, expecting some praise.

Nope, she wouldn't be giving in to him. It'd only encourage this sort of behavior. "It's very interesting. But I need you to take me back to Earth."

"You're already here. No harm in poking around."

"Doctor, we talked about this. I have some…business to finish up. Work first, play later, okay?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and she could've sworn his lower lip puffed out. "Clara, I have a time machine. Time is relative. Let's play first and then you can do your work. We have a whole space station to explore."

Only they'd never get around to her work. He'd keep finding excuses for her to stay. "Doctor…"

The Doctor sighed. "Fine. But where were you? That wasn't your flat."

She bit her lower lip. "No, it, uh, was somewhere else."

"Where?" His blue eyes narrowed like lasers.

Clara continued on, as if he hadn't spoken. "But you can drop me at my flat."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing." She widened her eyes into an innocent expression. Lying to the Doctor was much harder than lying to Danny.

"Don't try to use your inflating eyes against me, Clara. It won't work." Although, his expression had softened.

"But…" Again, with the eyes.

"Clara, if you don't want to answer, I can simply look at the screens. It'll tell me the truth even if you won't."

"But you won't."

"I won't?"

"For me." Clara stood up and slowly approached him, arms outstretched.

His gaze darted from one hand to the other nervously.

"Doctor, I want you to trust me. The way I trust you." She placed her hands on his chest.

And he sucked in a breath, his cheeks hollowing. His nostrils flared. The slightest little touch seemed to undo him. She slipped a finger between the buttons of his shirt, stroking his skin.

And he moaned.

While the Doctor might be an ancient, powerful Time Lord. In her hands, he was putty. They both knew it. "When I'm finished, you and I are going to figure some things out."

"What kinds of things?" the Doctor asked.

"Us. For starters."

They stared at one another for a long moment. For once, the Doctor didn't try to pretend he had no idea what she was talking about. "Come on, I'll take you back," he said.

"Thank you. And…?"

"And I won't look," he promised. "Let's go. The sooner I get you back, the sooner you'll be with me again."

Clara looked around the room sadly. The space station beat that Holiday planet. "Can we come back here, later? When I can stay for a bit?"

"Of course." The Doctor smiled at her, and they hopped into the TARDIS.

12

Later that day, Clara found herself in Malcolm Tucker's office trying to light a fire in the hearth. She had a feeling this was another one of those chores that no one wanted.

It wasn't going well.

Clara lacked the basic skills of a caveman apparently. She'd placed a pile of crumpled newspaper and twigs in the center and lit them. Then she bent close to it and blew. That's what the Google search had returned on how to start a fire.

But it kept smoking out.

"Let me guess, you've never made a campfire before? Or any kind of fire? You're blowing too hard."

Suddenly, a pair of gleaming black loafers came into view. She stared up to see the Prime Minister towering over her. She frowned. "Is that your way of saying I'm full of hot air?"

He crouched down beside her and chuckled. It came out rusty as an old hinge. Clara wondered if he hadn't laughed in a very long time. He licked his lips and his eyes had gone a smoky blue. "No, I'm saying when you're blowing something you've got to be gentle at first."

Yeah, she wasn't touching that one. "I'll keep that in mind." She cocked her head to the side. "So, I'm assuming I checked out?"

He raised a silver brow. "How'd you know?"

"If I hadn't, I'd find myself bouncing off the pavement outside, Mr. Tucker."

Again, he laughed. "Please…call me, Malcolm. I'm not some fucking elitist stuffed shirt."

Clara sighed. She was supposed to protect the man, not flirt with him. Just because he looked like the Doctor was no excuse. "I don't think that'd be appropriate."

"Who gives a fuck about being appropriate?" Malcolm asked slyly.

He had such a naughty look on his face, that Clara couldn't stop herself from grinning. "Okay, Malcolm, call me Clara." She told herself it was practical. If he liked her and trusted her, she'd have a better chance at saving his life.

"Well, Clara, you checked out, but I still think you're hiding something."

"Me? Nope." She smiled at him.

"I don't believe you, but let's see about getting this fire started." He held out his hand for the Zippo lighter she'd been using.

"Oh, no, you have important things to do. I'll take care of this." Somehow. Even if she had to douse the logs with kerosene.

He smirked. "I'm not being nice. I'm afraid you'll light my fucking office on fire."

Clara laughed. As she handed him the Zippo, his fingers grazed hers and they both stopped, staring at one another, their fingers touching. She hastily pulled back.

Then, Malcolm lit one corner of a newspaper, before placing it in the hearth. "That's all these fucking rags are good for anyway…kindling." And then he bent closer to the grate. "Now, to do this properly, you have to be gentle." He blew a slow stream of air and the flames consumed more of the paper. "If you want to enflame something, you can't overwhelm it." He pulled back and gave Clara a look so warm it could cause a fire of its own.

"No?" she asked breathlessly.

Malcolm shook his head. "You've got to take your time. Coax it. Tease it." Another soft stream of air and the small fire blazed. "Rouse it, until it burns for you."

And then the sticks caught fire. Malcolm pushed a couple of logs close to them. They, too, started to burn.

And they weren't the only thing.

Clara cleared her throat. Somehow fire-setting with Malcolm Tucker was erotic as hell.

Malcolm smiled at her. "I have a very important call to make, so you'll have to leave. But you'll be bringing me tea later on, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. And you'll bring enough for two. You'll be having a tea with me."

"Just the two of us?" she asked. Maybe she misunderstood and he wanted to have a meeting with the staff or something.

"Just the two of us," he confirmed, before standing up and dusting his trousers off.

Clara got to her feet and made her way to the door, but she was in a daze. Having tea with him sounded intimate…like a date. She couldn't date him…she had a thing or would have a thing with the Doctor.

As she turned the knob, Malcolm's silky voice made her toes curl. "And that's just for starters. We'll talk about it at tea…now off you go."

Clara left the room feeling like she'd inadvertently trundled into trouble.

And she was right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm's in the closet....no, not that kind.

Later that day, Clara stared at a serving tray in the kitchen.

She was still reeling from her encounter with the PM. Malcolm had asked her to bring him tea, so they could "talk". Whatever he had to say, she was betting wouldn't be good. He'd already said he was suspicious of her motives, so she believed he intended to question her and flirt with her in the process. But was it flirting to get information? Or with something more…er, salacious in mind?

Either way, this would end badly for her.

Clara wanted to pursue something with the Doctor and chatting up a human version of him wouldn't accomplish that goal. Mind made up, she flagged down one of the other maids and handed off her tea time duties. She didn't envy the maid. She bet the PM wouldn't be too happy about Clara dodging him, but she had more important matters to attend to. Like a Zygon hunt.

She headed upstairs to poke around a bit and see what she could find. The problem with Zygons is they could look like anyone. And Clara didn't know anybody here, so it'd be difficult to spot any behavior that was "off". She went to the staff room upstairs where the household workers kept their personal effects and ate meals. Unfortunately, the rows of steel lockers were padlocked shut.

If only she had a sonic screwdriver…

And that's when Clara noticed something slimy on the side of one of the lockers, the one against the wall. Zygons often left traces of…goo behind. Like saliva or sweat, they exuded the pinkish goo. She tried not to think about which orifice it came from.

Yuck.

Well, there was definitely a Zygon on the premise. She texted that information, along with a disgusting picture to Osgood. But she still didn't know who. And it was no guarantee that the owner of the locker was the Zygon in question, the alien might just have touched the surface.

Her mobile buzzed, signaling a text. Clara picked it up, expecting a message from Osgood, but it was the Doctor instead.

Doctor: Done yet?

She sighed. Honestly. He had all the patience of a child on Christmas Eve.

Clara: No. I said I'd give you a call.

And then she thought about all of those closed lockers she couldn't search. This would be so much easier with the Doctor's help. But could she tell him just enough truth to seem plausible. Decisions. Decisions.

Doctor: Just checking. And due to the limits of human brain capacity, it doesn't hurt to check. It might've slipped your mind.

Clara glared at the phone, and fired off a message.

Clara: Did you just call me stupid?

Doctor: No, I was referring to all humans, not just you.

Clara: Remind me to make you a card for this sort of situation.

Doctor: Hold on. Was I rude?

She just shook her head. She knew the Doctor didn't mean to be rude, it was just another quirk. One she'd grown to accept. She thought he considered social conventions to be an irritant. Maybe because he'd lived for centuries with humans at Trenzalore?

Clara. Yes.

Doctor: But that's a fact. How can a fact be rude?

Clara: Don't worry about it, Doctor. I don't suppose you'd lend me your sonic?

Doctor: I'd be happy to sonic something for you, but the screwdriver and I are a package deal, Clara Oswald. What do you need to open?

Clara bit her lip, thinking about it. No, if she brought him here, he wouldn't stop until he'd unmasked the Zygon and probably trigger some sort of national incident in the process. Meeting his human copy would set him off. And Malcolm wasn't exactly the easygoing sort either. Talk about fireworks.

Doctor: And afterwards, we can go to lunch. Would you like to have a picnic in the Garden of Eden? Or a new fusion restaurant they built under the Atlantic Ocean?

Clara: That sounds wonderful, but I can't. Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out. Talk to you later. She slid the phone in her pocket and made a mental note to google lock picking. She'd come back in the middle of the night and open the locks the hard way.

12

Later that day, Clara found herself putting away Malcolm Tucker's laundry. He had a walk in closet, complete with two comfy benches. And Clara couldn't resist having a good look around. His wardrobe was divided into business suits and Oxford shirts, accessories like shoes and belts, along with a selection of casual clothes like jeans. Malcolm seemed to have a preference for the designer, Paul Smith. Most of his suits and casualwear were made by that particular fashion house.

As she was perusing his accessories, she noted that his blue cufflinks had naked ladies on them. Although, you really had to look at them closely to see it. She guessed she shouldn't be surprised about that given his colorful language.

But the most shocking was his propensity for fuzzy gray fleece. He had at least a dozen of them. She didn't know him that well, but she couldn't imagine Malcolm in something that comfy and cozy.

After placing his dry cleaned items neatly on their hangers, she started folding his delicates. It was absolutely mad, but she had her hands full of his boxer briefs. It was something a wife or girlfriend would do.

All of them were stripey. And just a bit sexy. She could imagine him wearing them in fact…

"Well, what do we have here?"

Startled, Clara dropped the pants in her hand and looked up to see Malcolm striding in the closet. He had an amber colored stain on the lapel of his shirt.

"And here I thought you disappeared." Malcolm asked, eyeing her up and down. His gaze lit on the underpants at her feet and she could feel a flush spreading up her neck to her cheeks. He smirked.

"Uh, hello," she said, inching towards the door. "I'll just see myself out."

"Not so fast." He pointed a finger. "You stood me up."

Clara shook her head. "No, I couldn't have stood you up. We didn't have a date. I got really busy and so…another maid had to bring you tea." She smiled afterwards, proud of her quick thinking.

And then she headed for the door again.

But he stepped in her path. "I didn't say you could go. I dismiss staff, they don't fucking dismiss themselves."

She studied him for a moment. His eyes were sharp, assessing. "You still don't trust me, do you? Even after I checked out?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't entirely believe you. That's different. I don't think you're here to find yourself."

She tried to think of another lie.

"No, don't bother giving me a story. You're very sure of yourself, Clara. Anyone can see that after spending a few minutes with you. Why are you really here?" he asked. "I don't think you're here spying. I haven't found any connection to the other party. So what else could it be? Tell me." As he said that last bit, he leaned down a little, as though eager for her to whisper a confidence in his ear.

Not going to happen.

She ignored him. "So, you were gonna pump me for information. You didn't want to flirt with me a bit more?" she asked.

A smile tugged at his lips as he pulled back. "Flirting? I've been to every fucking sexual harassment seminar. Replay the transcript in your mind. I was talking about a fucking fire. Nothing more. If you read something else into it…"

"Now who's lying?" Clara placed her hand on her hips. He was annoying, but in a charming way. Like the Doctor.

He grinned, but it was unrepentant. "Maybe you're right. I'm a man of a certain age. I've already been to hell and back. And let me put it this way, clawing your way to the top of the political heap takes a lot of fucking energy. I've poured all of mine into this goal. I got roundly fucked last time, so I came at this with both barrels. There hasn't been any time for anything but politics."

"Meaning?"

He laughed. "Straight to the point. I like that. Fine, I'll give you a bit of truth. Sexual harassment be damned. My cock's been on bread and water for years, despite the best efforts of my cell mate. Now, I'm at the zenith of my power and I'm not running around mopping up after incompetent cunts anymore. I can do nearly whatever the fuck I want for the first time in my life.

"And what do you want?" she asked softly.

Malcolm continued speaking. "And in walks a pretty young thing in a French maid costume. Straight out of a skin mag."

"It isn't some scandalous roleplaying outfit!" Clara hissed. "It's a uniform."

Malcolm chuckled. "Still has the same effect. It's how the male mind works, Clara. Naughty nurses, dirty maids, wayward nuns…you can't blame me for a biological response."

"I get the picture." She put up a hand.

"You were bent over in front of that fire…and the view was spectacular." He licked his lips. "I could see what color your knickers were."

Clara's mouth went dry.

And then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.

He cocked a brow. "Changing. We're in a closet, sweetheart. My closet." And then he stripped it off and tossed it to her. "Why? Did you think I had something else in mind?"

Clara caught it in her clammy hands. Somehow the image of him bending her over that bench came to mind. The Doctor was shy and retiring when it came to the physical aspects of their relationship. She'd had to coax him into hugging and handholding. Or downright tackle him. She got the feeling that Malcolm was the opposite. He looked like the type of man who might punch someone, or step into someone's physical space to intimidate them. Lord knows he had a mouth on him. And she bet with women, he was just as, er, hands on. But in a pleasurable way.

"You'll see that gets to the dry cleaners, yeah?" he asked. Malcolm was left in a white t-shirt. His body was thin but well-defined. She wanted to see more of it. No, she wanted to see more of the Doctor's body. That's all this was…some sort of transference. He seemed to be waiting for something. A sign from her? But she couldn't…wouldn't go there.

"Yes," she agreed.

He plucked another Oxford from a hanger and buttoned it up, eyes fixed on her. This was very intimate, watching him dress… even though he hadn't even touched her.

Malcolm finished up and then leaned down to whisper into her ear. "I'm hoping you'll come clean with me soon." And then he walked to the door with a bit of a swagger.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because there's more to you than meets the eye, Clara Oswald. You have my attention." Once again, his gaze roved over her. "I'll like to strip a few layers back and see what I uncover. Maybe get to know you a bit better. Think about it."

As soon as he walked out, Clara slumped down on one of the benches. What the hell had just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm gets his fashion sense from Peter, since Peter wears a lot of Paul Smith clothing. I didn't make those cufflinks up either. Paul Smith makes naked lady cufflinks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Zygon is unmasked...

Clara couldn't sleep.

She'd been lying in bed for nearly an hour, but she was restless. The only way she could describe it was a sense of impending doom. Maybe that's because her life was a mess? She couldn't find the assassin, the Doctor was growing increasingly impatient with her, and she'd developed a distracting attraction to his human counterpart.

This wasn't going to end well.

Giving up on sleep entirely, she dragged on a pair of jeans, a jumper, and shoved her feet in some trainers. If she rest, she could investigate. Clara went downstairs to the main hallway and she noted only one guard standing outside the PM's bedroom.

He stood against the wall, hands folded across his chest. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with short-clipped brown hair wearing a blue suit.

"Miss Oswald," he said, with a nod.

That was unusual. She was new here, hardly anyone knew her name. Usually two guarded watched the PM, so he was never unprotected if one of them needed to grab a cup of coffee or use the toilet.

Something was off…or the other guard was otherwise occupied. Might as well find out.

Clara put on her best flirtatious smile and sidled up to the man. She'd been using the tactic on unsuspecting boys since she was twelve. And it worked on girls pretty well, too. "You have me at a disadvantage. What's your name?"

"Trevor Dawson," he said. Trevor didn't give her so much as an appreciative glance.

Hmph. The Doctor would've ate it up. Malcolm too.

"We haven't met before. How'd you know my name?" she asked.

He looked away and Clara got the impression he was thinking of an answer. "I get information on all the new employees."

"So where's your partner?" she asked, glancing down the hallway.

"Sick. Move along now." He waved a dismissive hand at her.

Oh yeah. Definitely hinky.

"Of course." Clara rounded the corner and stomped loudly up the stairs to signal she was leaving and then stood on the landing, ready to pounce if she needed to. She contemplated calling the Doctor, but decided against it. She could handle this. After all, she'd talked her way out of countless situations.

Then she proceeded to wait for a half an hour.

Time seemed to drag by. Clara had begun contemplating whether or not she'd gone mental.

And that's when she heard a door creak open. Was Zygon!Trevor making a move on Malcolm?

Clara rushed down the stairs and around the corner, just in time to see Trevor shutting Malcolm's door in her face. He sneered at her. "Too late. Give my regards to UNIT."

Clara threw her shoulder against the wood, clawing at the door handle. It wouldn't budge.

So she did the next best thing.

Pounding on the door, she yelled for Malcolm. "Wake up! Malcolm, wake up! You're in danger!" She didn't care about keeping this operation secret anymore. Malcolm's life hung in the balance.

And then she heard a cry and the sound of a scuffle….along with a blue streak of swearing that burned her ears. She overheard the thundering of boots on the stairs and then there were three men standing around her. She recognized them as guards from the gate outside.

"What the fuck are you?" Malcolm roared.

"Let me in!" She hit the door. "I can help you!"

The men shoved her aside and then slammed against the thick oak, but it didn't budge. They should've brought a battering ram with them.

"Malcolm!" she called. "Are you okay?"

"Busy at the moment!" Malcolm bellowed. "What the fuck? Bloody gooey space octopus…that sure as hell wasn't in the brochure."

Then something knocked against the door. Hard. Once, twice, and then scraped the length of the door. Clara had a feeling it was Zygon!Trevor.

"Malcolm?! Are you okay?" Clara called.

The door wrenched open and there Malcom stood in his stripey boxers. Clara couldn't help but ogle…lean heaps, a smattering of silver hair on his chest. But he was slathered in Zygon goo….looking like a cross owl. The Zygon in question was unconscious at his feet.

The guards gaped at the alien…and at Malcom in his unmentionables.

"What?" Malcolm asked. "Aliens aren't new. Metal men, spaceships crashing into the palace. Should I go on? Stop standing about. Do your job and take him into custody." While he seemed calm and in control, Clara was betting it was a front. His startled eyes told another story.

They shook their heads and handcuffed the Zygon. Then dragged it off to a holding cell.

Clara sighed. She was slightly disappointed. She'd been looking forward to playing the hero. Sure, she got to help the Doctor, but she hardly ever got to save the day singlehandedly. "So much for my rescue." Oh well. "You should call UNIT. They have some, uh, things to tell you. I'm glad you're okay."

"No thanks to you." Malcolm fixed her with a glare. "I knew you were fucking lying to me. I could smell it."

"I wasn't lying…I was withholding information." And the Doctor had taught her the difference between the two. Semantics maybe, but it made sense to her.

Clara turned to go but his fingers clamped around her wrist. "Yeah? Well, you'll fucking explain everything to me. Now."

12

An hour later, after Clara had given a long rambling explanation, Malcolm had calmed down.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. There was no longer a bulging vein in his forehead and he'd stopped saying the word 'fuck' repeatedly. But he was still on edge. His shoulders were tense, a muscle worked his jaw, and his nostrils flared now and then.

They currently sat in the kitchens and she'd made them both tea. He'd had a long, blistering talk with Kate on the phone. They had a meeting first thing tomorrow morning. Clara was glad that she woudln't have to attend.

All in all, it ended well, Clara supposed. Malcolm and the Zygon were both alive. No one had been martyred or murdered for their cause as a rallying point. The guards' memories would be erased and UNIT would come clean with Malcolm.

So, she supposed was free to leave with the Doctor and go on holiday. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. I should…uh, be going."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Malcolm asked. His voice was low, tinged with something quite like…disappointment?

Oh, damn. Beneath the bluster, he was hurt. She could see it in his eyes. For someone so commanding, so ruthless, he had a vulnerable side. "UNIT wanted this handled quietly. My hands were tied."

"You could've told me," he insisted. "I'm not exactly a civilian. You should've warned me."

Clara sighed. "Your nation is housing a planet's worth of refugees. It's a lot to take, especially on the heels of a threat against your life." Maybe she should've taken him aside.

"It's your nation, too."

Sometimes Clara didn't feel that way, as though one country, one planet was too small to contain her.

"Why you?" he asked. "Why did they choose you?" Malcolm rubbed a thumb along the lip of his mug.

She was momentarily distracted by the movement. She wondered what those long fingers would feel like gliding along her skin. Shaking her head, she forced herself to continue. "You worked in government before you became Prime Minister. I'm sure you've heard whispers about the Doctor?"

Recognition flared in his eyes. "You're the fucking Doctor?" He blinked. "I'd heard stories of course. But I never dreamed…"

Clara laughed. "No, I wish…I'm not the Doctor. I'm his best friend."

"Friend?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes, friend." For now at least. They had a long talk coming. And afterwards things might change, but Malcolm didn't need to know that.

"I need to meet him," Malcolm said. "Introduce me."

It was a command, he wasn't asking. Clara shook her head. "That's a bad idea." She was pretty sure the Doctor's head would explode once he met a human version of himself. And Malcolm's reaction wouldn't be much better.

"I didn't ask if it was a good idea," he said, standing up. He was trying to intimidate her with his height. "In fact, I think he and I need to have a long fucking talk about this planet and all the hell that's been raining down on us. I'm sick of being the bloke who follows the elephant at the circus and sweeps up the fucking turds."

"The Doctor saves us. He isn't the cause of our troubles" It made her furious when people blamed him for the chaos surrounding him.

Malcolm glared. "I didn't ask your opinion. Introduce us."

Clara stood up and placed her cup in the sink. She kept her movements languid, calm. It would take much more than a shouty Scotsman to unnerve her. And then she raised her chin. "I said no." She withdrew her phone and tapped out a message to the Doctor: I'm ready to go now. Come get me. Now.

"No?" His face was thunderous. "No one says no to me."

"Pay attention. I just did."

And then she heard the groaning whine of the TARDIS as it materialized around her. Clara stuck her tongue out at Malcolm.

The next thing she knew, she was standing next to the Doctor at the console.

Clara threw her arms around him. "It's good to see you."

He hugged her tight, placing his chin on the top of her head. "You really are quite short."

"I know."

"Where'd you like to go first?" he asked.

"Anywhere. Doesn't matter, as long as I'm with you." Clara buried her face in his coat, inhaling the minty scent of him. She'd had a long couple of days and being with the Doctor in the TARDIS felt like coming home.

He stroked her hair. "What've you been up to, Clara Oswald?" he murmured.

His voice had lowered and she could hear it rumbling in his chest. "Nothing important. Come on, let's go."

And then he turned his head and stared at the view screen. He pulled away from her. "No, it can't be."

Clara cringed. Oh, dammit. She should've just made him takeoff as soon as she was safely inside. "It isn't. Let's go!"

"It's me….well, not me. But me." The Doctor peered at himself.

On the screen, Clara watched as Malcolm gaped at the big blue box and then he ran towards the door, and started pounding on it. "Open this fucking door, E.T.!"

The Doctor scowled at her…a look that was mirrored in the view screen. "Explain," the Doctor said, eyebrows going into attack mode.

Clara found that two shouty Scotsmen was definitely unnerving.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story is now complete. The Doctor came out slightly more dominant. This is a very smutty threesome. :) I might ship the Doctor and Malcolm a bit.

What the fuck was going on here?

Malcolm Tucker was pretty fucking sure someone had slipped acid into his coffee this morning. The blue police box door had swung open and Clara ushered him inside. And now he stood in the middle of some kind of space disco room with his mouth open like a prostitute waiting for the next cock to suck.

That was the only plausible explanation for the sight in front of him So, either he was higher than a kite or he had an older twin who lived in an old time police box. Like the old woman who lived in the blasted shoe. And it was enormous inside… and…did he mention…weirdly lit up like a space nightclub.

Disconcerting.

Malcolm did what he always did when he was annoyed, he went off. He stabbed a finger at the older version of himself. The one standing at the console like a train conductor. "You! You're the Doctor, aren't you?" Somehow he seemed to be at the epicenter of every alien cock-up that had happened over the years.

His elderly twin was dressed in a holey jumper that Malcolm…well, he quite liked…despite his better judgement and a pair of black trousers. The alien folded his arms across his chest and fixed Malcolm with a malevolent glare before turning to Clara who watched them both undisguised anxiety widening her big brown eyes.

"Explain, Clara," the Doctor intoned. "Who is the shouty pudding-brain and what are you doing with him?"

Malcolm folded his arms in an unnervingly similar manner and also directed a glare in her direction. Clara failed to mention the part where he and the Doctor could be twins.

Clara paled. "Uh, UNIT asked me to watch the Prime Minister," she said, gesturing to Malcolm.

"Yes, I'm the Prime Minister." Malcolm raised abrow. That's right. Mother-fucking-PM. Against all odds. Chew on that, alien disco man.

The Doctor snorted in derision. "He isn't the first one I've seen," he sniffed disdainfully. "Churchill was better."

Malcolm barely restrained the urge to talk to him with his middle finger.

"And the PM needs a babysitter?" the Doctor asked.

Malcolm snorted.

"No, of course not." Clara continued on. "A Zygon was trying to assassinate him and I—"

"UNIT sent you a dangerous mission without informing me? Or asking my permission?"

Clara scowled. "Hold up. Your permission?! I don't need your permission! And for your information, I handle the situation very well…without you."

"Maybe you do need permission," Malcolm drawled, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair…mostly pepper though. "He looks old enough to be your grandfather."

"Actually, I'm old enough to be her ancestor," the Doctor sneered. "And Clara doesn't seem to mind."

"The republic and I are fine, by the way," Malcolm sniped. "You should give Clara more credit." She'd tried to help, but he'd been the one who'd ultimately fended off the creature.

Clara beamed at him and for a moment Malcolm forgot to breathe. Or scowl. Her smile was breathtaking. He wanted to see it again.

The Doctor stared at them, head going back and forth. And his frown deepened.

The bastard was supposed to be some kind of fucking saint, always swooping in to save the Earth, but he didn't seem to give a bloody damn about anything right now. Besides Clara.

The Doctor sighed, running a palm down his face. "I just meant….I have a duty of care."

"Oh, don't start that again," Clara said, placing a hand on his arm. "It's handled." The alien seemed flustered…but pleased by the contact judging by the smug mug on his face. "The Prime Minister is fine, the Zygon is in UNIT custody, and no blood was spilled. Everything worked out."

"This time," the Doctor said. And Malcolm saw a break in his icy demeanor…a tenderness in his gaze that was almost palpable. "You must be more careful."

"I will, as soon as you start taking it easy, too."

They both grinned at each other, sharing a wordless moment.

And suddenly Malcolm felt like the third wheel. He had a feeling this was a very old argument between the two of them. They seemed…close. And he didn't like it. Not one bit. So, he shouted right through their affectionate silence. "Yes, yes, the world is saved. But why the fuck do we look alike?" Malcolm sputtered.

"We do not look alike!" The Doctor said, stepping around the console to glower at him.

"Yes, you do," Clara said. She shot a glance at Malcolm. "UNIT that he was completely human."

"Supposedly everyone has a twin," the Doctor mused, tapping his chin as he sidled over to study Malcolm like a bug he was about to dissect.

Malcolm smirked back.

"Are you certain we look alike?" the Doctor asked Clara again.

Clara laughed. "Yes."

"Maybe you need glasses, Old Man," Malcolm drawled.

However, the Doctor ignored him as if Malcolm were completely beneath his notice. Then the Doctor's eyes widened and for a moment Malcolm wondered if he'd shout eureka or something equally barmy. "Do you have any Italian blood?" He pointed a long thin finger at Malcolm.

"Yes," Malcolm said slowly. What the fuck has that got to do with anything? And then the alien pulled out a long….probe? Space vibrator? "What the fuck are you doing with that?"

"Just getting a reading." And then he zoomed it up and down Malcolm's body.

"Get that fucking thing away from me!"

"Language!" the Doctor bellowed.

Clara came to stand beside them.

The Doctor studied his anal probe. "Ha! I knew it. You've got some Roman in you…well, Pompeiian, at least." The Doctor said this with a triumphant grin as if he'd fucking created cold fusion or something. He ran a hand along his own cheek. "I remembered where I got this face, Clara."

"Yes, you told me. From the man you saved in Pompeii?"

This all made no sense to Malcolm so he simply gaped at them both. All of those rumors and whispered he'd heard about the Doctor over the years were true. And he could be the bloke's younger twin. It was…disconcerting. Suddenly, he understood Clara's attraction to him. She obviously fancied the Doctor….but what did that mean for Clara and himself?

"The shouty Pudding-brain is his descendent. It's simply a genetic anomaly." And then the Doctor snapped his fingers and the doors behind Malcolm flew open. "Since all that's settled, you can go now. Clara and I are late for our holiday because you needed to be saved."

Clara blew out a breath. "The Doctor meant to say, why don't you have a drink with us?"

Malcolm was about to walk off with what little dignity he had left, but Clara cast a pleading look at him.

"Come on. Just one drink?"

All it took was one look and he was following her down a labyrinth of corridors.

12

Twenty minutes later, Clara had both the Doctor and Malcolm at a roughhewn table in the kitchens. She'd poured them each a glass of wine from some bottle the TARDIS had produced when she opened the fridge. Clara had stopped asking where the old girl got these things.

Clara was on her second glass of wine. She hadn't said much, merely watched them. The similarities were striking. The Doctor looked a bit older, a bit leaner, but they were unmistakably the same. What a wonderful coincidence.

And she couldn't help but think of the possibilities…a human version of the Doctor. Well, he was a bit more sweary, Kind of Machiavellian. But still…they had a lot in common.

Clara listened as the two men one upped one another. C Malcolm had a summit with the president of the United States, and the Doctor had been present at the signing of the Declaration of Independence and even contributed a few lines of prose to the document. While she was "the boss" in her relationship with the Doctor, when it came to other men, the Doctor was as aggravating and bombastic as any other alpha male. She remembered the shouting match the Doctor had with Danny on the TARDIS. And the way he'd sniped at Robin Hood. Nope, the Doctor didn't like competing with another man for her attention.

For two men trying to impress her, they weren't doing a good job. They were mostly puffing out their chests and posturing. Completely ignoring her. Clara topped off both of their wine goblets and hers as well. Then, she took a long deep drink. She was hoping she could convince the Doctor to take Malcolm on a trip somewhere amazing…just because…well…she wasn't sure what she felt about him. But she knew she wasn't ready to be away from Malcolm just yet.

And then suddenly, she felt…strange. A little warm. No. Scratch that. Hot.

Clara licked her lips and tugged at the buttons on her shirt, popping open two or three. Then she fanned herself. She felt like she was wearing too many clothes.

And the heat seemed to be affecting both Malcolm and the Doctor. The Doctor had pushed up the sleeves of his jumper. Malcolm had slipped off his suit coat and loosened his tie.

Suddenly, Clara's nipples peaked and the lace of her bra was excruciating on the sensitive flesh. Her breasts felt larger, heavier. She wanted to rip off the bra.

The Doctor and Malcolm were staring at one another. Wordless. Mouths open. Twin silvery gazes molten…and then they kissed. No, that's the wrong word. It was a mashing of mouths. Almost biting. Rough. Like they were trying to assert themselves.

It made Clara moan.

The Doctor leapt to his feet and hauled Malcolm out of his chair. Clara knew that the Doctor was strong. But she'd never seen it on display like this.

"Fuck you," Malcolm growled.

And the Doctor smirked.

It made Clara's stomach flip.

The Doctor backed Malcolm against the wall. They were both panting. Cheeks hollowed, eyes hooded. The Doctor yanked Malcolm's head back and kissed him. Hard. Biting, rough kisses.

Clara shivered watching them. She'd never seen two men together and it was unbearably erotic. Almost primeval. It was about dominance and control. She'd gone liquid between her thighs and she pressed them together, squirming in her seat.

She could see their erections bulging in their trousers, distending the fabric. They were both panting, cheeks red, their clothing mussed.

The Doctor wrenched himself away from Malcolm. The Prime Minister seemed knackered, hair standing up, his mouth kiss-bruised.

"Clara," the Doctor gasped, pinning her with his eyes. "Where'd you get that wine?"

"Um, from the fridge," she muttered. "Is there something in it?" She licked her lips and his eyes fastened on her mouth.

"An aphrodisiac," he grated out. The Doctor looked up at the ceiling and laughed hoarsely. "Wicked old girl. You got sick of waiting around for me to do something, eh?"

"What do we do to stop it?" Clara asked, but it was half-hearted. Right now, the only thing she wanted to do was take off her clothes.

"Too late now."

Meanwhile Malcolm touched two fingers to his mouth. "I'm not gay!" He said this to Clara, a little desperately.

"No, you're bisexual," the Doctor snapped. "Humanoid sexuality is on a continuum. Some people are more sexual, some less, most are bisexual, but societies force individuals to classify themselves. It's a stupid–"

"No lectures," Clara interrupted. They seemed so far away. She reached for the Doctor. "I need you."

"We need a bed." Then the Doctor swept her up in his arms and Clara clung to him.

"Let's go to my bedroom." She motioned to Malcolm "You, too!"

Moments later Clara was lying on her big bed. Malcolm and the Doctor knelt on either side of her. This was going to happen. Finally. She and the Doctor were going to get together. It was just happening in a way she couldn't couldn't help but rub the back of her fingers against the front of their trousers. And they issued twin moans…guttural and needy. It made her sex clench in response.

And then their long, slender flingers were pulling at her clothing. Blouse off, skirt and tights pushed down. Leaving her in a white lacy bra and matching panties. It was far from sexy, but at least they matched and were in good repair.

For a moment, they both stared. Open-mouthed. Appreciative. And she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.

Malcolm didn't bother unsnapping the bra, he just pushed her breasts over the cups so they were lifted up. And then they sucked at her nipples, worrying them. One mouth hot. The other cool. The Doctor was a bit chilly, but the contrast was…exciting. Two mouth pulling on her sensitive nipples, teeth grazing them.

Clara thought she might come from that alone.

But then the Doctor pulled away and captured her lips instead. He kissed her breathless, deep and yearning, hands cupping her head. Finally, he pulled back to give her breath. "I wanted it to be different…our first time. I wanted it to be special…and exclusive." He shot a glare at Malcolm, who was still suckling her. Not paying them the slightest attention.

"It's okay. I don't mind..if you don't?"

"Do you want the foul-mouthed pudding-brain, Clara?" the Doctor asked.

Clara hesitated. "I.."

He smiled and it was filled with such kindness, such patience. "Monogamy is a charming human notion, Clara. But I don't have a finite lifespan. I can't spend the rest of my life with one being and I wouldn't dream of asking that kind of commitment from you."

Sometimes she didn't think she deserved him. Clara couldn't resist a grin. The Doctor was so transparent. He'd been thrilled when he thought she was coupled up with Adrian, another human copy of his former self. Apparently, it was okay for her to see other men as long as they were , he'd acquiesced to her dating Danny, too. Even though it was clear he had feelings for her.

"If you want the human copy, he's yours….but no one else. Not unless we discuss it?"

"Of course."

And then Malcolm bit her nipple, harder this time. Enough to make her cry out in pained pleasure. "Less talking. More fucking," he rasped. And then, he stripped off her knickers, leaving her completely bare. His fingers slipped down her stomach, headed for the apex of her thighs when the Doctor slapped his hand away.

The Doctor settled himself between her thighs. "I'm first," he said roughly. His voice was gravelly and he pinned Malcolm with a malevolent stare. "When it comes to Clara, I'm always first. Remember that, pudding-brain."

"Understood," Malcolm said. He winked at Clara. "Possessive, isn't he?"

"Do you mind…?" she asked.

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm still not convinced this isn't some crazy fucking dream, but I'm fine. Spock over there is fucking in love with you. Anyone can see it. But…you care for me, don't you?" There was something almost hopeful in his eyes, though he quickly stashed it away.

"Of course I do."Clara wondered if she might come to love Malcolm in time, too.

"That'll do for now." He smiled. "But I want all of it."

The Doctor unbuckled his belt and then unzipped. He shoved the question mark pants down his legs as well as his trousers. The Doctor's cock was long, thick. A drop of precum pearled on the tip.

Clara licked her lips…and so did Malcolm.

"Suck me," the Doctor said to Malcolm. It wasn't quite an order…but almost. They were still establishing pecking order. Just in a different way.

Malcolm met the Doctor's gaze and they stared at one another. A wordless pissing contest.

Clara waited…breathless, to see what the men would do. And, by God, if Malcolm wasn't going to suck him, Clara would.

But Malcolm knee walked to the Doctor. And inclined his head. Subtly. Then Malcolm lowered his head and sucked the Doctor into his mouth. Malcolm's body was splayed over her lower half. She could feel the heat from him…wanted desperately to be touched.

But had to wait.

"That's it, get me harder for Clara." The Doctor stared at her and she couldn't look away. He was aroused, ferocious. The Oncoming Storm. Suddenly, he pushed Malcolm out of the way and then lunged into her. Balls deep.

Clara keened, lifting her hips up. And the Doctor plunged in and out of her. Taking her hard. Fast. Fierce.

And then Malcolm was next to her, shoving another pillow beneath her head, angling her so he could push his cock into her mouth. It looked just like the Doctor's. And it tasted so damn good.

Clara was filled…Malcolm in her mouth and the Doctor in her pussy. Both of them taking her.

The Doctor drove faster, abrading her clit with his pubic bone. And Malcolm reached between her thighs to rub her clit. The direct content was utterly delicious, exactly what she needed.

Clara couldn't take another second of it.…wailing as the orgasm slammed into her. It seemed to set off a chain reaction. First, the Doctor between her thighs. He came with a rough cry.

And then Malcolm, who spilled into her mouth. Filling it with salty sweetness.

Then they were lying together, Malcolm on the left, the Doctor on the right. It felt so right to be sandwiched between the two men.

"Can Malcolm come on holiday with us?" Clara asked, after a moment.

"If it makes you happy," the Doctor said.

"It does." And then she grasped both of their hands, linking their fingers. "Right now, I'm feeling very happy. Malcolm, do you want to go?"

"I can't fucking think right now," he muttered. "I might be gayish. Got a space twin. And a new girlfriend. And probably going on holiday in a fucking police box."

"You'll get used to it," Clara reassured.

"I expect I will."

And that's how Clara started her Christmas holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> There is one more chapter. There will be smut, there will be some fluffy Christmas, and a resolution....


End file.
